


Fate／save life

by Bakufan15, Dewyn



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014), fate/
Genre: Between ep25 and ep26, Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant - mostly, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-UBW, Rin will eventually have a bad time, Shirou has a bad time, Slow Burn, long fic incoming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakufan15/pseuds/Bakufan15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dewyn/pseuds/Dewyn
Summary: "How can I become a hero that saves everyone when I can't even save someone who's been right next to me all this time?"Post-UBW.
Relationships: Emiya Shirou/Tohsaka Rin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Emiya Shirou watched in all his powerless glory as Matou Sakura’s flesh gave way to a writhing mass of insects.

He woke up covered in sweat.

* * *

A shout of “Emiya-kun!” stopped him dead in his tracks as he crossed the school courtyard that morning, and Shirou turned to find himself under the scrutiny of one Mitsuzuri Ayako.

“Good morning, Mitsuzuri,” he greeted her, without his usual smile; the previous night’s dream had left him feeling more than a little shaken, and the fact that he’d awoken to find his house empty had only added to his distress. “What’s up?”

“Have you seen Sakura-chan?” Mitsuzuri pressed him, hands on her hips. “She was here for our graduation ceremony just last week, but she didn’t come to practice after school yesterday, and now I see you coming to school alone.” It was, by now, common knowledge that he and Sakura traveled to school together on the mornings she didn’t have practice.

“She came over to my place yesterday morning,” he told her.

“You don’t say?” his classmate teased, when he didn’t elaborate. “Is there something going on between you two?” Shirou frowned, tilting his head, but all he got in return was an overly-dramatic sigh accompanied by a roll of the eyes. “Forget it, I’ve gotta get back to practice so we can clean up before school starts. Let me know if you see Sakura-chan, okay?”

“Sure.”

She left him both alone and with a seed of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t as if Sakura hadn’t taken sick days before - maybe a little more often than most students - but he wasn’t about to dismiss his gut feeling as paranoia, especially not after everything he’d learned during the grail war. Something felt _wrong_ , and when something _felt_ wrong, that usually meant it _was_.

 _Speaking of gut feelings..._ “Tohsaka, good morning!” He started the sentence before he even turned around to check that it was her. “You’re on time today.”

“Tch,” she huffed. “I was trying to surprise you, for your information.”

“Surprises are probably out of the picture as long as this is here,” he said, tapping his sleeve over where she’d transplanted her magic crest. It had faded away for a time after he’d fought Gilgamesh, but over the past week its soft green glow had made a slow return alongside both his and Rin’s mana.

The crest’s primary function was to link their mana pools, but that came with some side effects. By its very nature, mana was personal - that is, imbued with traits of the person that it came from - so sharing it was much like sharing part of yourself. As such, Shirou and Tohsaka had noticed a few little ‘perks’ over the couple weeks that had elapsed since the end of the war, like strong emotions leaking across the link (as it turned out, Shirou got _really_ intense about cooking), or as they’d recently learned, a general sense for the other’s location at any given time.

She slapped halfheartedly at his hand, face flushed. “You don’t need to show it off to the whole world!” 

“ _Hai, hai,”_ he agreed, raising both palms in playful surrender. “Let’s go, I still need to stop by the student council room before class.”

“Issei again?” Tohsaka guessed, raising one eyebrow. Shirou nodded.

“One of the chairs has a loose foot, so it keeps rocking.”

“Oh, for - Emiya-kun, do you _have_ to fix everything for everyone all the time?” she pouted, crossing her arms. “Can’t he just put a book under it or something for now?”

“It’s fine,” he shrugged. “I have plenty of time, and it’s not like I - “

Disappointment that absolutely was not his own surged through him for the briefest of moments, and he blinked. It took him a moment to notice the faint prickling on his upper arm, and when he did, Shirou realized - it was _Tohsaka_ whose disappointment he now felt.

“Not like you what?” she pressed him, eyes narrowed.

“Not like I...want to?” he offered, scratching at the back of his head.

With a long-suffering sigh, Tohsaka strode past him, making for the main building. “Come on. You’re walking me to class.”

* * *

Shirou was very aware of the impatient _tap, tap, tap_ of Tohsaka’s foot as he changed into his school shoes. He’d gotten used to her acting this way by now: she’d claim she was walking on her own, rush ahead, then stop and make it painfully obvious that she was waiting for him to catch up.

“Alright,” he said, pulling at the back of one shoe to make sure he’d gotten it on all the way. “I’ll walk you to class and then head to the student council room after.”

“You don’t need to walk me to class,” Tohsaka said, falling into step next to him. “The student council room is on the way to my classroom.”

Shirou shrugged. “It’s fine, I should have enough time. Besides, didn't you just say I was walking you to class?”

An eye roll. “Fine, do whatever you want.” She pointedly avoided addressing her earlier demand.

Even as he and Tohsaka bantered, however, his mind drifted back to Sakura, and the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach returned. He couldn’t shake the fear and worry itching at the back of his mind, and any attempts at staying optimistic fell flat.

 _She’s probably just taking a sick day and I’m overthinking it. It’s not like she has to tell me about where she is all the time,_ he thought to himself. _Still, I can’t help but worry..._

“-iya-kun? Emiya-kun, we’re here,” Tohsaka’s voice tore him back from his thoughts. 

He blinked, only just taking in the fact that they stood outside of Class 3-A’s room. He’d let his mind drift so far that he’d neglected to even keep track of his surroundings; he feared for what kind of trainwreck of a one-sided conversation he’d subjected Tohsaka to.

“Hey,” Tohsaka leaned closer, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “You okay? You seem out of it this morning.” Her tone was softer than it normally was.

Shirou flashed a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Tohsaka’s frown deepened. “Don’t push yourself too much, Emiya-kun.” She said it like a command, but Shirou could tell that it was backed by genuine worry. 

He waited until they parted ways to let his smile drop.

By the time he got back to the student council room, Issei was already standing in the doorway, arm held up against the frame to block any entry and a scowl plastered on his face.

“Good morning, Issei,” Shirou greeted him, stopping outside the door.

The other boy’s scowl just deepened. “Is that all you’re going to say? What happened to the bro code?”

“The bro - what? What are you on about?”

“You and Tohsaka-san!” Issei burst out, inordinately outraged. “Since when are you so chummy? You must know by now that her and I _do not_ get along!”

Shirou shrugged. “What? We’re classmates, what’s wrong with talking?”

Issei let out an overly-dramatic sigh and lowered his arm, gesturing for Shirou to follow him into the room. “You were classmates a month ago, too, but you didn’t walk with her to class then!” He slid one of the chairs out and away from the table, adding: “It’s this one that’s broken.”

Shirou kneeled down and flipped the chair onto its side, studying each foot in turn. “What’s the big deal with Tohsaka?” he asked without looking up.

“It’s…” Issei started, seemingly unable to put his thoughts into words. “I don’t know. She just gives me the creeps.”

“Tohsaka gives you the creeps,” Shirou repeated, chuckling. As he spoke, he found the problem without even needing to Trace it. “Looks like one of the legs got disconnected at the joint, so it’s longer than all the others. Get me some wood glue and I’ll fix it.”

Issei strode over to the former student council storage locker (it had long ago turned into a makeshift toolbox) and pulled out a half-empty bottle of wood glue, tossing it over to Shirou. “I don’t know, it’s like...she always comes out on top of our class for academics, so I guess for a while I saw her as a rival of sorts, but then I realized that she doesn’t even try. What kind of person tops the grade on almost all exams, but doesn’t care about studying?”

“So, you’re just jealous, then,” Shirou retorted.

“Jealous - I am _not_ jealous.” 

“Fine, fine, it’s not jealousy” he agreed, carefully applying glue around the offending leg before thumping it back into place. After a brief scrutiny, he set the chair upright. “Just let it dry for a few hours without putting weight on it and it should be good as new.”

“Thank you,” Issei sighed, deflating. “Now, both of us need to get to class before we’re late.” Shirou simply nodded and followed his friend into the hallway.

“I think you’ve got the wrong impression of Tohsaka,” he suggested as Issei locked the door behind them. “She’s really nice when you get to know her. She’s just...hard to approach at first.” He didn’t mention the fact that the only reason he’d approached her in the first place was that they’d both been thrust into a seven-way battle royale between mages.

Issei raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it, as I have no intentions of getting anywhere near that girl.”

Shirou shrugged as they entered the classroom. “Suit yourself.”

* * *

Sakura didn’t show up for school that day, nor did she come around to Shirou’s place afterward. By the time Fujimura pulled up on her bike, his underclassman hadn’t so much as phoned to let him know what was up, and the anxiety pooling in his gut was starting to make him feel sick.

“Fuji-nee, you haven’t heard anything about Sakura, have you?” he asked his guardian, picking halfheartedly at some rice. She stared blankly back at him, munching one of the panko-breaded shrimp he’d prepared for dinner.

“Mm? No, nuffin’,” she got out through a mouthful of food. “Why?”

“Isn’t she one of your students this year?”

“Yup!” Fujimura returned, wolfing down another shrimp. “I’d have to ask her homeroom teacher, though. I haven’t heard anything, and she’s not here today, so she might just be sick. I’m sure everything’s okay,” she added, reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder in a vain attempt to cheer him up. The gesture, while kind, was full of Fujimura’s trademark vigor, and the force of it did nothing to console him.

Shirou didn’t respond, and after a few minutes of silence, Fujimura turned on the television and slid the remote across the table. “If you’re going to be so quiet, we may as well put something on.”

He sighed, reluctantly picking up the remote. He wasn’t big on television - in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched a program that wasn’t the news, which happened to be exactly what greeted them the moment the screen flickered to life.

_“New Fuyuki seems to be experiencing an early spring this year as swarms of cicadas have emerged to enjoy the fresh air several months out of season - “_

_Click._

_“ - あなたの悲しみをスラップチョップ - “_

_Click._

_“ - previously on Tangerine Nights - “_

“Ooh, they’re airing Tangerine Nights now,” Fujimura gushed, and Shirou’s thumb hovered over the ‘Next Channel’ button.

_If Fuji-nee is so relaxed about this, maybe I shouldn’t worry so much after all. I’m probably just overreacting._

At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

Unable to concentrate, he forwent his nightly magic practice, heading straight to bed after washing the dishes, but his mind refused to let him sleep; his dream from the previous night kept coming back to haunt him, and shutting his eyes didn’t help. The pure darkness served only as a canvas upon which his mind painted images of a Sakura composed entirely of the glinting shells and scuttling limbs of countless insects, and Shirou tossed and turned as if he could simply shake his nightmares away.

The telephone rang, and - both desperate for a distraction and hoping against hope that Sakura had been able to call him after all - Shirou scrambled out of his futon, nearly tripping over his own feet in a mad rush for the receiver. “Hello?” he asked it, crossing his fingers - 

_“Emiya-kun, can you_ please _calm down? I’m trying to sleep.”_

Shirou pulled the earpiece away from his head and stared at it for a solid three seconds. “Tohsaka?” he asked, already knowing full well it was her. Voice aside, who else would call him this late at night?

 _“I’m already not a morning person. If you keep me awake tonight, you’re gonna pay tomorrow!”_ she threatened.

It took him a moment to figure out what exactly she was referring to. “Sorry. I can’t help it,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I’ll take some sleeping pills or something.”

_“Can’t help what?”_

Her tone had lost a little of the edge, and Shirou weighed his options for a moment. He could tell her not to pay it any mind - to which she’d likely respond with “you can’t just get all worked up and not tell me what’s wrong!” - or he could be up-front with his worries and face whatever she had to say about them.

A beat.

“I think something’s happened to Sakura,” he blurted out.

_“What makes you say that?”_

“According to Mitsuzuri, she didn’t go to school after breakfast yesterday morning, and she didn’t show up today, either.”

 _“Emiya-kun…”_ Tohsaka huffed, and he could imagine her running her fingers through her bangs. _“Are you sure she’s not just sick? Flu season isn’t over yet.”_

“Fuji-nee said the same thing. I know it’s probably nothing, but...Tohsaka, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s the same kind of feeling I had around the barrier at school.”

There was silence from the other end. When Tohsaka spoke again, her words were careful, measured. _“I get that you two are close, so it’s normal to worry,”_ she said. _“Are you completely certain that it’s the same kind of feeling, though? If so, maybe your reaction to barriers manifests as anxiety rather than you having some kind of magic-driven intuition.”_

“I’m positive,” he replied, gaze boring a hole through his futon. “I even had a dream about her last night...I think she was in some kind of danger, but when I got close enough to save her, she turned into a bunch of bugs.”

The crest on his arm twinged as a vague sense of fear washed over him for the briefest of moments. _“What...kind of bugs?”_ Tohsaka asked, slowly.

“Uh...they looked like wasps or cicadas. Or hissing cockroaches. There were a few different types.”

_“I’m coming over.”_

“Wait - Tohsaka, it’s late!” he objected. “You don’t know what kind of people - “

 _“Emiya-kun, do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”_ she interjected, her tone thick with exasperation. _“Do you_ really _think a mugger would have any chance against_ me _?”_

This, Shirou realized, was a fair and valid point. He decided to try a different angle. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

_“Not even if you wanted to.”_

He wasn’t sure if she’d sensed something through their shared link or if she just knew him that well, but she was correct - he _didn’t_ want to stop her. Even so, he wasn’t comfortable letting a girl walk all the way to his place in the dead of night by herself. “I’ll meet you halfway, then,” he told her. “Which route are you taking?”

_“Meet me at the park.”_

She hung up before he could respond, and so a sighing Shirou changed back into his day clothes, donned his jacket, and set out for the park where he’d once met up with Illyasviel von Einzbern.

In spite of the day’s warmth, the night was a chilly one, so Shirou zipped up his jacket, jamming his hands into his pockets. He left his hood down; though the grail war was over, he didn’t like having his hearing and vision impeded, and it wasn’t as if the streets were perfectly safe. Even if there was no longer any risk of being jumped by Berserker, he didn’t want to be caught unawares by a mugger. Quite aside from the fact that he’d need to use magic to defend himself, the last thing he needed was to spend the night in a police station or the hospital.

When he arrived at the park - lit only by a single, solitary lamppost - he found Tohsaka already there and waiting for him, hand on her hip.

“You walk too slowly,” she accused, pointing a finger. “I’ve been here for ten minutes already.”

“It’s not my fault the park is further away from my house than yours!” he tried to defend himself, but Tohsaka wasn’t having it, arms crossed, eyes closed and head turned away to form her trademark pout.

“Hmph!”

“Want me to run next time?” Shirou suggested sarcastically.

“Who says there’s going to be a next time?”

“With you around? Who’s to say?”

Tohsaka snorted. “Maybe if _somebody_ didn’t get into trouble all the time…”

“I’m not in trouble now, though,” he pointed out mildly, knowing full well it would irritate her.

“I - you get what I mean!”

Shirou chuckled, and he could see a reluctant smile pushing its way onto her face.

“Honestly,” she went on, looking away. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be sound asleep right now.”

“Yeah.”

Tohsaka waited for him to continue, but when he said nothing more, she sighed and shook her head. “Come on. I don’t want to talk about this where we can be heard.”

“What’s so secret about it?” Shirou asked her, following. “It’s one thing to be worried about having a phone call intercepted, but we’re alone now, right? Isn’t this good enough?”

“I was under the impression we’d be meeting at the park and then going back to your house. It’s not something I can say outside of that bounded field of yours.”

“Mm.” _I’m not going to pretend I have any idea why she’s being so tight-lipped about this, but it’s Tohsaka. I’m sure there’s a reason._

The chirps and calls of insects followed them all the way through town, and once or twice, Shirou caught a glimpse of something small darting between two trees or into a bush. “The cicadas came out early this year,” he announced, recalling the snippet of news he’d heard earlier. “Kinda weird, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely weird.” Tohsaka’s tone was distant, and the relief he’d felt at seeing her finally started to give way once more to tension. He couldn’t recall doing something to draw her ire, and what little he could sense through their shared mana didn’t _seem_ to be directed at him, which left him at the conclusion that something else was wrong.

The rest of their trip back to Shirou’s home took place in silence save for the rustling of their invisible escorts, which subsided the moment they stepped through the gates at the edges of his property.

 _Hang on,_ he realized, craning his neck to see over his own shoulder. _The barrier has never kept out insects or anything before, only magical energy…_

“Caught on yet?” Tohsaka asked. Shirou turned back around to meet her gaze, and she smirked. “Let’s go inside. They can still hear us out here.”

“You’re leading the way like you live here again,” he commented, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“I did for a little while,” she countered. “Now hurry up!”

Shirou hurried up.

Once they were safely inside, Tohsaka headed straight for the cabinets, pulling out a pair of mugs and filling them at the sink. Shirou watched as she stuck one in the microwave, then went rifling through another cabinet for tea bags.

“I usually make tea on the stove,” he offered, unhelpfully. “That microwave is a little old.”

“I’m too tired to deal with the kettle right now,” Tohsaka sighed. “And it’s not like the heat from the microwave is somehow inferior to the heat from the stove.”

“No, but the microwave makes everything smell like fish.”

She immediately yanked the microwave door open and stuck her head in, sniffing. After a moment, Tohsaka whipped around, flushed and fuming. “It does not smell like fish, you liar!”

“Please just use the kettle. The microwave heats unevenly.”

“Too late. You’re getting microwave water.”

Defeated, Shirou accepted the inferior tea. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” he asked, grimacing as he took a sip. It was fundamentally the exact same as the tea he made on the stovetop, but Shirou was a man of principle.

The faint, playful smile on Tohsaka’s face disappeared in an instant.

“You told me you dreamed about Sakura...turning into bugs or something. Right?”

“Yeah.”

She shut her eyes, drawing in breath for a long, deep sigh. When she opened them again, her gaze was hard, flinty. “You’re aware that the Matou family has a magic bloodline.”

“Yes, but Shinji said that their magic circuits were dying out,” Shirou recalled.

“Correct. Children with magic circuits are no longer born into the Matou family. Matou Shinji does not have the physiology necessary to perform magecraft.”

Shirou frowned. “But he summoned Rider. Even I was able to summon a Servant, and I can only do stuff that involves swords.”

“Ah,” Tohsaka said, and here she smiled a twisted little smile. “That’s where you’re wrong, Emiya-kun. Matou Shinji did _not_ summon Rider. He doesn’t have the mana necessary to engage in the summoning ritual, and he couldn’t have sustained her the way he did even if he were somehow able to summon a Servant.”

 _...What?_ “Tohsaka, how do you know all this?” he asked, trying to give himself a little space to think.

“My family’s an old mage family,” she reminded him, shrugging one shoulder. “Of course we’d have taken note when another family needed to adopt a natural-born magus in order to continue its bloodline.”

“What?” Shirou blurted out, his attempt at gaining breathing room backfiring entirely. “Are you saying that Sakura - what?”

Tohsaka took a long sip of her tea.

Unable to believe what he was hearing - _Sakura is a magus?_ _she never even hinted at it, how could she be? she didn’t recognize Saber, either -_ Shirou could only stare unseeing into the depths of his mug, thoughts racing a mile a minute. At length, “are you sure?” was the only thing he could manage to say, and she nodded once, letting out another sigh.

“It gets worse,” she told him, expression souring. “Emiya-kun, before I tell you anything, can you promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t go running off trying to play hero for Sakura or something.”

He stared at her, mouth half-open in a mixture of shock and suspicion. “Tohsaka, what - “

“Promise me!” she shouted, unexpectedly passionate. Then, eyes softening: “Emiya-kun. Please.”

He looked into Tohsaka’s face, more open than he’d seen it since the night Archer had betrayed her, and swallowed hard. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that what she was about to tell him was (for lack of a better word) _bad_ , but for Tohsaka, he would have to bite the bullet to do as she asked. “Alright. I promise,” he murmured, and she visibly relaxed.

“Thank you.”

A beat. She gazed at him, expression unreadable.

“Tohsaka?” Shirou prompted, after a moment, and she huffed.

“Right...Sakura is not truly a Matou, but she was still raised according to their... _ways._ ” Her emphasis on _ways_ did not sit well with Shirou, and he narrowed his eyes, leaning forward across the table.

“Ways?” he echoed.

“The Matou family’s magecraft...is traditionally...based around the concept of binding or absorption,” Tohsaka explained. The fact that she seemed to be having difficulty speaking did nothing to reassure him. “Which means that...their method of teaching typically involves something known as a Crest Worm.”

“Crest Worm?” Shirou repeated, tasting the phrase. It was foul, fouler than foul, and bitter bile rose in his throat.

“Yes. They were designed by the patriarch of the Matou family centuries ago to act as living magic circuits and confer magic power to those upon whom they are bestowed,” she went on, sounding more and more as if she’d swallowed a textbook on magical history. “T he ‘worm’ in Crest Worm isn’t symbolic, which is why I was so concerned about the contents of your dream.”

Shirou frowned. “But there weren’t any worms in it.”

“No, but it’s the nature of Crest Worms that has me worried. They’re a type of blood worm cultivated by the Matou family - do you know what a blood worm is?”

He’d studied phantasmal species under Kiritsugu, and while he’d never seen one in person, Shirou could recall quite clearly his textbooks’ illustrations of the horrors that were blood worms. A chill ran down his spine as he nodded, and Tohsaka gave him a look that he was fairly certain was supposed to be pity. Slowly but surely, the connections were forming, and he didn’t like the picture they’d started to paint.

Tohsaka bit her lip. “What has me concerned is the type of insects involved in your nightmare, because her grandfather’s magic involves insect familiars,” she continued. “We were being followed by some on the way back - it’s why I didn’t want to discuss anything until we were inside.”

“That explains why they weren’t able to follow us past the bounded field,” Shirou realized, gripping the edge of the table for support. He felt lightheaded, as if his entire world had come crashing down - _Sakura’s a magus, Sakura’s been put through some kind of ritual involving blood worms, I’m having nightmares about her grandfather’s familiars -_ and, trying to ground himself, he sipped at his tea, knuckles white on the mug’s handle.

Tohsaka didn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to watch him digest this new information. “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in,” she said softly. “Knowing someone so close to you has been keeping so much from you.”

“Mm.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Shirou finished his tea, and it wasn’t until he’d deposited his mug in the sink that he spoke, still facing the wall. “Do you think her grandfather did something to her?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully level.

“It’s not impossible,” Tohsaka admitted. “If I had to guess, I’d say that after her poor summoning during the grail war, she’s probably being made to train more for the next one. I’ve no doubt that Matou Zouken wants his bloodline to participate again.”

“Who?”

“Her grandfather.”

A pause. “So you think she’s okay?” Shirou prompted, hopeful.

“She’s probably fine,” Tohsaka confirmed. “It’s weird that you’d have a dream like that, and the fact that Zouken is clearly keeping an eye on us tells me you’re onto something, but there’s no reason to take action yet. Let’s just stay vigilant for now.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“You just did,” she teased, clearly trying to lighten things up a little. “What is it?”

“How long have you known about Sakura being Rider’s master?”

Another sip of her tea. “I didn’t figure it out until after we’d already taken her down. Matou Shinji didn’t have any command seals, just a book, and when I thought it over, Sakura being Rider’s true master was the obvious solution.”

 _To you, maybe,_ Shirou wanted to say, but he held his tongue. “Were you planning on telling me?” he said instead.

“No. I didn’t think it was necessary.”

 _Typical Tohsaka._ With a heavy sigh, Shirou pinched the bridge of his nose. The magic-riddled anxiety he’d been feeling had finally faded, and in its place was a buzzing, bone-deep fatigue that he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep off by the time he had to get up for school. _Especially not after I walk Tohsaka home,_ he added to himself - and on that note, he changed the subject. “Come on,” he said, heading for the door. “We both need to sleep.”

He didn’t hear her get up, and after a couple of seconds, he turned to see her still kneeling at his table, hands balled into fists in front of her. “Tohsaka?” he prompted. “Is something wrong?”

She turned to face him, face beet red. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so bold, that’s all,” Tohsaka got out, voice shaking a little; belatedly, Shirou realized what was on her mind.

“I just meant that you should probably head home if you wanna get any sleep before school tomorrow!” he amended hastily, a fierce blush claiming his cheeks. “Jeez, Tohsaka, don’t - I’m not - “

“I - oh.” Clearly embarrassed, she stood, dusting off her skirt. “It’ll be really late by the time I get home, though, and since I know you’re going to insist on walking me there, it’ll be even later when you get back. I’m going to stay the night.”

Shirou blinked. “Hang on a second - you can’t just decide that!” he protested, but Tohsaka was already rising from her seat and heading for the hallway. “Hey - Tohsaka!”

She paused in the doorway long enough to glance back at him over her shoulder, still flushed. “Yes?”

_Oh, come on. I can’t kick her out when she looks at me like that._

Accepting his defeat, Shirou let his shoulders slump and scratched self-consciously at the back of his head. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Emiya-kun.”

* * *

When Sakura didn’t show up to Shirou’s house the next morning, he made sure to drag Tohsaka out of bed (which harbored many, many complaints of ‘give me five more minutes!’) and left for school a little earlier than he typically did. Despite Tohsaka’s assurances that Sakura wasn’t in any immediate danger, he couldn’t help but dwell on the uneasy feeling that lurked in the pit of his stomach. While his nerves had faded, the worry hadn’t.

 _When was the last time I showed up to school so early?_ he thought as he crossed the front gate. During his days in the archery club, arriving early had been part of his daily routine, but after quitting he had no reason to be on campus before class unless it was to help Issei repair something.

“I’m going to my classroom,” Tohsaka yawned, still groggy. “Come with me if you want.”

“I’m going to make a stop somewhere else first,” he responded, turning away from the main path. Tohsaka just responded with a tired hand-wave, as if shooing him away. Shirou rolled his eyes and parted from the girl, making his way towards the archery dojo.

Before he even reached the door, he heard the familiar chorus of twanging bowstrings and striking arrows. It was a little bit nostalgic, in a way, and Shirou took a moment to listen before pulling open the door. As soon as he did so, a few heads turned to look at him, but most of those inside were too preoccupied to pay him any mind.

Shirou wasn’t surprised when he didn’t see his junior’s signature purple hair in the crowd, but it didn’t make that fact any less disheartening. 

“Emiya-kun!” a familiar voice called out, and a moment later Mitsuzuri jogged over, handing off her bow to another club member. “It’s been forever since you’ve come to the dojo! What brings you here so early?”

“Good morning,” Shirou greeted her, nodding. “It’s been a while, yeah. There’s a lot of faces here I don’t recognize.”

Mitsuzuri flashed a smile. “I know, right? A whole bunch of first years joined up, so we’ve got more members than ever!” To emphasize her point, she gestured to the room, and Shirou noticed that there were more people than there were shooting stations. “So, what brings you here? You coming back for your final year?”

Shirou hesitated, clearing his throat. “I...not exactly. I was wondering if you’ve heard anything from Sakura?”

“I was going to ask you about that, actually. I was a bit worried when she didn’t show up to practice this morning.” Mitsuzuri’s tone had shifted away from her typical upbeat spunk. “You didn’t hear from her, either? I’d have called her but I don’t have her home phone number.”

Shirou dipped his head, shaking it in response. 

Mitsuzuri bit her lip. “That idiot, making us all worry about her,” she murmured under her breath. As much as Shirou advocated looking on the bright side, it was refreshing to see somebody on the same page as him rather than hand-waving and saying she was probably okay. He was probably overthinking things, but at least he wasn’t alone in doing so. “Hey, Emiya-kun, do you want to drop by her house after school and check in with her? Shinji-kun is in the hospital, so if she’s sick she probably doesn’t have anyone to take care of her. I’d go on my own but I don’t know where she lives.”

Shirou smiled his signature smile - _hi, how ya doin’, happy to help_. “Sure, we can meet by the front gates after school.” If nothing else, going over to Sakura’s house would help to ease his worries and stop him from keeping Tohsaka up at night via secondhand anxiety.

“Sounds like a plan!” Mitsuzuri chirped. “I’ve gotta go yell at some first years right now, so I’ll see you then!” With that and a little wave, she turned on her heel and strode away, barking something about sloppy form at a mousy-haired girl halfway across the dojo.

Shirou slipped out without another word.

* * *

With nothing to do for the rest of the morning, Shirou found himself watching the crowds through one of the school’s windows, absentmindedly projecting a pen in his pocket then dissipating it, just to project it again repeatedly. It was a bad habit he picked up after the Holy Grail War and a horrible waste of mana, but it helped keep him busy and (he liked to think) train his projection speed.

As the start of class approached, Shirou decided to head back to his classroom to wait. Naturally, he was surprised to see his homeroom teacher standing in front of the door, blocking any students from entering.

“Good morning, Sensei,” Shirou greeted.

“Ah, Emiya-san,” the woman said, her voice a bit more serious than he’d been expecting. “There’s an assembly in the gym this morning, if you would head there instead of homeroom today.”

 _An assembly? I don’t remember there being one planned,_ he thought, but before he could ask anything, his homeroom teacher turned away, already talking to another student besides himself. With a sigh, Shirou walked away, following the other students. As he got further, the crowds became denser and he started to realize that the _entire school_ was convening in the gymnasium.

As he walked, Shirou felt a veil of uneasiness and anxiety begin to encroach on his mind, which wasn’t helped by the fact that he couldn’t locate Tohsaka in the crowd, despite the fact that their classrooms weren’t too far away from each other. He walked through the doors to the gym, trying to force the thoughts out, but with each student that filed into lines around him, Shirou found it increasingly difficult to steady himself. His intuition was screaming that something was _wrong,_ and considering intuition was one of the main things that carried him through the Holy Grail War, he found it impossible to calm down. 

“Hey, do you know what this is for?” a voice not too far from Shirou whispered and upon inspection, he noticed it was one of his classmates talking to her friend. “I didn’t see anything on the school’s schedule about an assembly.”

“Shh!” her friend hushed, “The principal is coming out!”

Shirou turned his attention back to the front of the room, and sure enough, the school’s principal was walking across the stage. The room slowly quieted down as more and more students noticed him; by the time he put his papers down on the lectern, the entire gymnasium was silent. 

“Good morning, students of Homurahara Academy,” the man started. His voice was completely even and deadly serious. “I want to preface this student body address by saying that we, as a staff, care deeply for our students and believe that your well-being is the single most important thing to uphold.”

The man paused, clearly trying to gather his thoughts as Shirou’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach and he held his breath. 

The principal cleared his throat “With that said, we’ve called this assembly this morning to notify the entire student body that one of our very own students has left us. Second year student Matou Sakura passed away last night.”

It was like a bombshell had been dropped on the room. Any and all whispered conversations between students halted instantly, and to Shirou, the entirety of the outside world seemed to vanish. He could have heard a pin drop if not for the roaring sound of blood in his ears.

_Sakura’s...dead?_

Shirou couldn’t move. His entire body had gone rigid apart from a slight twitching in his hands. _It’s gotta be a joke. It’s a joke, right?_

“As a staff, we want to reach out to any and all students and offer therapy and counseling, especially for those of you who knew her,” the principal continued, but at that point Shirou couldn’t even hear him.

When he blinked, he saw his friend’s smiling face, and the next time after that, he saw a blank, lifeless expression. 

_Blink._ He saw Sakura, smiling as she cooked dinner with him.

 _Blink._ He saw Sakura, bleeding on the cold ground.

 _Blink._ He saw Sakura, humming as she hung laundry in the backyard.

 _Blink._ He saw Sakura, terror in her eyes and a spear through her chest.

 _Blink._ He saw Sakura as she was when he first met her, a shy middle-schooler whose gaze never left her own feet even as she knocked on his front door.

Shirou forced his eyes shut, and when he did, he saw Sakura decompose and turn into an army of insects.

_Snap._

A sound like a string being cut dragged him back into the moment, and he forced his eyes open with a soft gasp, finding himself able to move again. Silently he turned, pushing his way through the crowd towards the exit of the gym, clutching at his chest with one hand and struggling to breathe against the immense, invisible weight that seemed to have settled there.

He didn’t look up from the ground as he meandered his way towards the exit, body entirely numb. He couldn’t hear the principal continuing with his speech about Sakura, nor could he hear the protests from his classmates and teachers as he pushed through the crowd and finally out the door. All that existed was him and the concrete below his feet as he walked aimlessly.

“Emiya-kun!” A shout finally reached his ears. He turned slowly, looking back over his shoulder to see Tohsaka standing in the doorway to the gym. She walked out, letting the metal door shut behind her, an expression he couldn’t read on her face. It almost looked like she was about to cry, and when she spoke again, her voice was small, barely audible. “Emiya-kun...where do you think you’re going?”

Shirou blinked. “Home. I think I need to take a nap.” With that, he turned and continued walking. If Tohsaka said anything after that, her voice fell on deaf ears.

He made his way all the way back to his house safely, even if he didn’t remember the route he took to get there. _Doesn’t matter,_ he thought, fumbling for the key. Eventually, he got the door unlocked, and pushed his way inside, not even bothering to take off his shoes as he pushed the door shut behind him and dropped his bag in the middle of the hallway.

 _I’ve had enough,_ he thought, walking past the kitchen and into his room, laying down and curling into a ball on the floor in the spot where his futon would’ve been if not for the fact that he’d put it away earlier that morning. 

Still in the fetal position, he closed his eyes, and eventually a dreamless sleep claimed him.


	2. The Hospital

**Just want to note, since the summary doesn’t make it clear - Sakura’s death and Shirou’s/Rin’s struggles to cope with it are the** **_first_ ** **arc. - Dewyn**

* * *

Shirou awoke to a dull ache in his back and a sharp pain in his neck.

With a grunt, he forced himself into a sitting position, wincing as he stretched; the emotional numbness still hadn’t faded, and some disconnected part of him acknowledged that he was still in shock. He was sure it’d set in later - all the grief, all the hurt, all the sorrow - but right just then, all Shirou could think of was finding out how Sakura had died.

The clock in the hall told him that it was just before eleven in the morning, meaning that he’d slept for a solid three hours.  _ That makes up for last night, _ he reasoned, heading for the kitchen for some water.

Once he’d gotten a drink, Shirou figured he’d eat an early lunch, but the moment his hand found the fridge door handle, he froze, unable to open it. It wasn’t as if he’d somehow lost all strength in his arms, or that the refrigerator had developed a supernaturally powerful vacuum-seal - it was the fact that just three days prior, he’d been pulling ingredients out of it and handing them to Sakura.

Turning away, he picked up the phone and ordered take-out instead.

While he ate, Shirou mulled over what to do next.  _ If I want to figure out how Sakura died, _ he reasoned,  _ I should ask someone close to her. But the only person I know who was close to her is… _

Shirou bit his lip.

_ As little as I want to see him after the grail war...it’s my best shot. _

The hospital was too far away for him to walk within any kind of reasonable timeframe, so he scraped together some stray bills to pay for bus fare and made his way to the nearest stop. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform, so more than a few judgmental looks flew his way. Anyone who lived in New Fuyuki knew the Homurahara uniform, and no doubt he resembled nothing so much as a class-cutting delinquent.

With a start, Shirou realized that he  _ was _ cutting class; during the grail war, he’d never even stopped to consider the days he’d stayed home to be “skipping”.  _ Maybe it just feels different now because I’m in my uniform, _ he figured, in the idle way of one trying not to think too much.

For the most part, however, he ignored his fellow commuters. There was no particular reason for him to care for their thoughts.

“Good afternoon!” the hospital receptionist greeted him when at last he stepped through the automatic doors into a lobby reeking of disinfectant. “How can I help you?”

_Help me?_ _What are you offering to help with? I don’t need help._

It was a moment before he remembered that he needed to ask her for a visitor pass. By the time he managed to ask for Matou Shinji’s room, the receptionist’s smile had gone from genuine to strained, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that something about him had unsettled her.

Again, he ignored it.

The door to Shinji’s room was wide open, but Shirou knocked anyway just to be polite. From inside came a familiar sigh, followed by an irritated “come in”.

_ Same old Shinji, huh? _ “Hey, Shinji,” he said, giving a two-fingered wave as he entered. “Do you have a minute?”

“As if I have anything but,” his classmate spat, dog-earing his place in the book he was reading and dropping the volume onto his nightstand with a heavy  _ thunk.  _ “What do you want,  _ Emiya? _ Here to rub it in?” Shinji snapped, venom in his voice.

Shirou scrunched up his face, confused. “Rub what in?” he asked, nonplussed. “I came to ask you if you knew about Sakura.”  _ There it is. I said it. _

“Sakura?” Shinji echoed, a sneer creeping onto his lips. “Really? You came to ask me about that whore?”

Shirou blinked. “She’s your sister,” he blurted out, unable to think of anything else to say and too stunned to register what Shinji had just told him. “You didn’t hear…?”

“Oh, I heard. What about it?”

“I...how?” was all Shirou could manage. His mind had started to give a little at the mention of her name - started to replay that same loop of  _ alive, dead, alive, dead _ that he’d experienced during the assembly - and, seeing how lost Shirou looked, Shinji smirked.

“Grandfather was pretty disappointed after Rider failed, but since I managed to form a contract with Archer instead, he decided the bitch must have been the one at fault for summoning such a weak servant,” he gloated, evidently forgetting that he’d pretended to be the one to summon Rider. “I don’t know what he did with her after the war, but she stopped showing up a few days ago. I suppose the old man decided he was done with her.”

“Done with her?” Shirou echoed softly.  _ Like a tool that broke? _ He felt his shoulders tense up involuntarily and light pain graced his palms as his fingernails dug into the skin.

“Grandfather probably just had that crest worm inside of her drain her dry,” Shinji continued.

“Inside...of her?” Shirou breathed, gaze locked on Shinji’s smug face.

“She didn’t tell you? I guess it makes sense, she wouldn’t want her precious senpai to know how disgusting she really was,” Shinji  _ giggled _ . “I don’t know the details, but Grandfather had one in her, used her like a mana battery. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Shirou gave a dry swallow, unable to find his voice until after Shinji’s sadistic laughter stopped echoing in his ears. “And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

Shinji paused, and for a fleeting moment Shirou thought the deliberation was something good, a sign that Shinji had some semblance of human empathy left. That hope faded, however, when his ex-friend smirked. “I suppose I’ll miss the sex. You should’ve seen how she just sat back and took it! Makes me wonder if her sister would do the same thing.”

Shirou’s blood ran cold, yet Shinji’s words evoked no powerful emotion in him. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should be angry or sad or surprised; he had every right to be. Instead, there was nothing but a cold, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I...see.”

Shinji, evidently, wasn’t done. “She loved you, you know. The bitch didn’t talk much at home, but whenever she opened her mouth, it was always  _ Emiya-kun _ this,  _ Emiya-kun _ that. Not that that matters because she sat back and took it anyways. You hear that,  _ Emiya-kun _ ?”

“I…” Shirou trailed off. Shinji’s taunting, whether or not it was true, should have gotten a reaction out of Shirou - any reaction at all - but while Shirou had  _ heard _ everything his classmate said, he wasn’t truly  _ listening _ . A single question had risen to the forefront of his mind at the word  _ love _ , drifting up through the haze, and he spoke aloud without a second thought.

“Did she die alone, or was there someone there that loved her?”

When Shinji burst out into hysterical, uncontrollable laughter, Shirou once again felt nothing. “Do you really think that there’s a single person in this world that loved that whore?”

Shinji kept talking, ranting and raving as was his wont to do, but as far as Shirou was concerned, he may as well not have existed. Vision blurred, ears filled with some dull buzzing, Shirou turned and walked out of the room, hounded by Shinji’s mocking. When he shut the door behind him, he found that he could no longer feel the door handle beneath his fingers but rather the same fuzzy sort of chill that filled his entire body.

He left the hospital without another word, not bothering to acknowledge the receptionist’s half-hearted “thank you for visiting” as he placed his visitor pass on her desk on his way out.

* * *

By the time Shirou got home, Shinji’s words still hadn’t quite sunken in.  _ What should I cook for dinner? _ was on his mind rather than  _ Sakura spent most of her life in a home where nobody loved her and the closest thing she had to family used her like a sex doll _ , and it wasn’t until the ringing of the doorbell changed to a frantic hammering on the door that he even noticed the noise.

“Emiya-kun!  _ Emiya-kun! _ ” someone was shouting. “Open up!”

Perplexed, he staggered out into the hall, staring blank-eyed at the door. The knocking continued.

“If you don’t open this door  _ right now, _ I’m going to blow a hole in the front of your house!”

Even if he didn’t know her voice like the back of his hand, there was no mistaking that wanton disregard for property damage. Shirou pulled the door open and Tohsaka promptly knocked on his face instead.

“Ouch.”

Tohsaka rushed forward to inspect the damage she’d done. “Emiya-kun, are you sorry?” she burst out, and he blinked, clutching his aching nose.

“What?”

“I - I was going to say I’m sorry and ask if you were okay and it just - ” she blurted out, face red and ears pink. Then, shaking her head: “I’m - why are you still in your uniform? You left halfway through the assembly and I - where did you go?”

“I just didn’t bother taking it off,” he shrugged. “I went to go visit Shinji in the hospital.”

“You made a scene running out of the assembly just to go visit that malnourished brat?”

Another shrug. “I had to ask him about Sakura.”

“There were probably better sources for that, though,” Tohsaka countered. “You left Mitsuzuri-san hanging after school - you could have asked her about Sakura. I don’t think Matou Shinji pays much attention to anything outside of his own pants.”

A beat.

“Yeah,” Shirou murmured, meeting her eyes now. “He doesn’t.”

“Emiya...kun?”

He broke like a dam.

“I had no idea,” he whispered, gaze falling to the ground. “I thought we were as close as siblings, but it turns out I didn’t know a single thing about her.”

For whatever reason, Tohsaka looked stung, but Shirou plowed on, unable to stop himself.

“Shinji told me everything, Tohsaka. Everything about Sakura that she never once so much as  _ hinted at _ \- all those times I asked if she was okay, all those times I didn’t press her when she said she was - she was lying, Tohsaka.” A hard swallow. “You mentioned that the Matou family used crest worms to transfer power, but I never would have guessed…”

She waited. When he didn’t elaborate, she prodded. “Guessed what?”

“I don’t know - I thought they just, bit down on you or something. But Sakura...they were  _ inside  _ her, Tohsaka. All this time, eating away at her.”

“But that can’t be right,” Tohsaka argued. “Blood worms are only parasitic in the larval stage, and Sakura never displayed any symptoms of blood worm infestation.” She sounded confident, but Shirou just shook his head.

“They weren’t in her blood, Tohsaka. They were  _ inside of her. _ ”

If Shirou were in any normal state of mind, he might have poked fun at the disgust now creeping its way up Tohsaka’s face as the realization sunk in. “You...this is a really sick joke, Emiya-kun.”

“Do you really think I would make a joke like that?” he retorted, genuinely hurt.  _ She’s in denial, _ he knew, but he himself was in no shape to shrug off what she’d said. “Shinji said it himself. He told me, Tohsaka.”

Tohsaka opened her mouth to speak, but Shirou barrelled on before she could formulate a sentence.

“He said that after the war, their grandfather was _done with her_ ,” Shirou continued, voice half an octave higher and shaking. “He said he’d _miss the_ _sex._ He said she just ‘sat back and took it.’”

“Emiya-kun…”

“I asked if she’d died alone,” he said, half-shouting now. “And he said - he said. He said...”

_ I can’t. I can’t say it. _

She was silent. Shirou watched his hands shake. Not three minutes prior, he’d been nothing if not numb; now, forced to spell everything out for Tohsaka, he was anything but. A scalding cocktail of bile rose in his throat, and it was all he could do not to vomit all over her uniform.

“Sakura was living her own personal hell,” he finally said, voice low and level and - more so than anything else -  _ heavy _ . “I was right there, but I never noticed it. So many signs that things were wrong, and I just  _ ignored _ them. I took her word for it.”

Tohsaka was breathing hard now, clenching and unclenching her firsts. When at last she spoke, her tone was deceptively light, airy. “Let’s have tea, Emiya-kun.”

“...What?” He was caught off guard, but in typical Tohsaka fashion, she ignored him and marched straight down the hall and into the kitchen. Shirou followed, trailing after her like a kicked puppy, and found that he could only watch as she filled the kettle and lit the stove beneath it. It was difficult to believe that not twenty-four hours prior they’d had a playful spat over the virtues of heating water in the microwave.

“What kind would you like?” she asked him, more softly this time. 

He thought about it for a moment. “Genmaicha.”

“Me too. I’m not in the mood for anything bitter.”

“The ingredients are - “ he started.

“In the top right cabinet,” she finished.

“Yeah.”

Shirou stood for an awkward moment in the middle of the living room, staring blankly at Tohsaka while she pulled out two tea bags and a pair of mugs. “You can sit down, Emiya-kun,” she gently reminded him, shooting a glance over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah.” The words came out flat, automatic. He shuffled over to his normal spot and sat, sliding his legs under the table. Once Shirou heard the kettle whistle, it wasn’t long before Tohsaka emerged from the kitchen holding two identical cups of tea. She sat opposite him and slid his mug across the table.

“Thanks,” he said, raising the cup to his lips. Genmaicha wasn’t a strong tea to begin with; it was mostly made with grain and therefore quite mild in flavor, which resulted in a nigh-tasteless brew similar to plain water unless one managed to steep it for too long.

When he took a drink, he tasted nothing.

Tohsaka didn’t attempt to make conversation, and neither did Shirou. Despite his uncontrolled rant at the door, he wasn’t sure what to say, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually have the strength to say it. So, the two just sat at the table, sipping at their tea until the cups were empty.

Tohsaka broke the silence by grabbing his empty mug and standing up abruptly. “I’ll take care of these,” she announced, storming off to the kitchen.

“At least let me clean up,” Shirou objected, getting to his feet. “You made the tea. I’ll wash the cups and kettle.”

“It was my idea to make tea in the first place!” Tohsaka shot back, indignant. “I wasn’t making it just for you or anything!”

“But I wanted some too.”

“Look, you don’t need to be the housewife all the time. Just this once, let me…” she trailed off, mouth twisting into a frown of concern. “Emiya-kun?” she said, all semblance of irritation long gone. 

At first, he thought - wildly - that Tohsaka had used some sort of magic on him. Twin trails burned their way down his face, and when he reached up to touch his cheek, his hand came away wet.

“You’re crying.”

_ Oh. So that’s what that is. _

“Yeah,” was all he could manage to say.

The seconds between the first glittering droplet falling from his face to the ground below and Tohsaka pulling him into her arms were blurry in more ways than one. All Shirou knew was that, for the first time since before Emiya Kiritsugu’s death, someone  _ wanted _ to comfort him. He didn’t know how he knew, but something in the way she held him told Shirou that this was no mere act of obligation, and it was this which tore through the numb forebears of his grief.

Shirou melted into Tohsaka’s embrace, his rigid posture collapsing. He didn’t wail, nor did he cry out in anguish. He simply went limp, burying his face in Tohsaka’s shoulder as he let the tears run their course. The entire time, Tohsaka didn’t say a single word, but when his arms fell to his sides, she squeezed a little, pulling him just a little bit closer.

Eventually the tears stopped, but Shirou didn’t pull away from the hug. With a heavy, shaky breath in, he finally mustered up the courage to say something. “Sakura and I have had almost that same argument a few times before.” He paused for a second. “More than a few times, actually,” he laughed weakly, feeling his entire body shake.

“Yeah?” she murmured, stroking the back of his hair with one hand.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

A beat.

“Sorry for getting your shirt wet.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you really mean that?”

“What do you think?” Tohsaka asked him, but her tone was soft, almost affectionate.

He was silent for a couple of minutes. She didn’t let go, and he clung to her like a lifeline; at length, it occurred to him that something was off about her. “You’re still in your uniform,” he realized.

“What about it?”

“...Nothing.”  _ You were worried and came right here as soon as you could, didn’t you? Even though you’re too proud to admit it...thank you, Tohsaka. _

* * *

Rin wasn’t sure exactly when Emiya fell asleep on her shoulder, but she supposed it was only natural to feel exhausted after a day like today.

_ So why don’t I? _

Her sister’s death - if she could even call Sakura her sister anymore, considering Rin herself had avoided contact with the girl for the past decade per their families’ mandate - hadn’t exactly been unexpected. They were magi, after all, and how often did a magus live past their thirties? Even Tohsaka Tokiomi had been considered exceptional for seeing his fortieth birthday.

Still, Sakura  _ was _ her sister, so she ought to feel something resembling sadness or grief, and yet she couldn’t seem to find anything outside of a deep-seeded regret for not letting Saber blast Shinji away along with the grail. If even a  _ fraction _ of what Shinji had told Emiya was true - well, if it wasn’t for the fact that Emiya’s head had migrated to Rin’s lap, that mop-headed  _ maggot _ wouldn’t get to see the sunrise tomorrow.

It didn’t help that the dilemma of whether or not to tell Emiya that Sakura was her estranged sister was tearing her up inside. She’d spent the better part of the previous night debating whether or not it would be a good idea to let him know, but then the world had decided to drop a bombshell on her, making the decision even more complicated. If she told him now, it would be even more information to overwhelm him, which was the last thing he needed right now. Rin’s chest tightened when she thought about the wracking sobs that had run their course as Emiya cried himself to sleep, and while she was struggling to come up with some sort of emotional response to the situation as a whole, it hurt  _ her _ to see Emiya hurting like this.

Rin watched as the sun that shone through the kitchen window turned orange and then eventually disappeared, falling behind the horizon. She’d started to sweat a bit, her uniform was uncomfortable, and she had homework to get done, but Emiya  _ still _ wasn’t showing any signs of waking up, so (with a little help from reinforcement magic) Rin picked him up and carried him down the hall to his room. To her surprise, his futon - normally rolled up tight and packed neatly into his closet - lay in the middle of the floor, sheets still mussed up from the night prior.

_ He didn’t even make his bed, huh? _

She found herself faced with a curious emotional dichotomy then - a rush of affection not dissimilar to that one feels when a rowdy child or pet finally falls asleep, rammed up against a chill dread that stemmed from the ever-meticulous Shirou’s failure to perform a routine task. Even when he’d been injured, even after seeing one of his teachers skewered before his eyes, even after Illya’s murder, even after Archer’s “betrayal” and Saber’s departure, even after  _ singlehandedly taking down arguably the most powerful Servant _ , he’d never once allowed himself to slack on household maintenance or self-care, and yet now….

Her uniform was far too warm. It had already been uncomfortable -  _ gods, I can’t wait for summer uniforms - _ and Rin ran hot anyway, which was why she avoided pants even in winter, but after sharing body heat with a lap pillow, she’d started to sweat, and the shirt was now sticking to her back. Figuring she’d earned it, Rin decided to help herself to a bath, and it wasn’t until after she’d toweled herself off that she remembered: she’d taken her spare clothes home shortly after the conclusion of the grail war.

_ Emiya-kun won’t mind if I borrow some, right? He’ll understand. _

* * *

When Shirou awoke, he registered a familiar, arrhythmic chopping - the sound of someone unskilled with a knife attempting to cut vegetables - and his first thought was that Tohsaka had decided to prepare a late dinner. This theory was dispelled immediately when he tried to stand, only to realize that she was fast asleep at his side, clinging to his arm and wearing only his favourite white-and-blue shirt.

_ An intruder? _ he wondered, still half-asleep and attempting to detach Tohsaka from his arm so that he could get up.  _ Why would an intruder be chopping vegetables? _

The intruder, it turned out, was none other than Fujimura. The sight of his notoriously lazy surrogate sister actually making an effort to cook was enough of a shock to scare away his drowsiness, and on instinct, he rushed forward to grab her knife hand before she could cut her fingers again. Shirou was not keen on visiting the hospital twice in one day.

“Shirou!” Fujimura gasped, startled. “Good, now that you’re awake, you can finish dinner.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to start it,” he said drily. “Who are you and what did you do with Fuji-nee?”

“I’m not that bad! Remember when I made omurice for Kiritsugu?” she retorted, indignant.

“Yeah, years ago and only because I helped you!” For just a moment, everything felt normal again. Shirou could almost imagine that Sakura would return from the bathroom any second now. “I saw you were asleep when I got here, so I thought I would let you rest.”

The illusion broke the moment such out-of-character words left Fujimura’s mouth. “You’ve never had any qualms about waking me up to cook dinner before now,” he pointed out.

“Well, no, but…”

No room had ever contained an elephant so tangible.

“If this is about Sakura, there’s no need to treat me differently,” he told her, keeping his gaze trained on the carrots before him. Compared to the clumsy, uneven chunks Fujimura had managed to cut, Shirou’s neat, uniform slices possessed an otherworldly sort of grace, which was very high praise indeed for a dismembered carrot.

“You and Tohsaka-san seemed like you needed the rest is all.”

He blanched. “You saw that?”

“The two of you were asleep when I got here. It was cute,” she teased, tossing both a wink and a bundle of spring onions his way. The gesture seemed natural, but in any other situation, she’d have immediately shaken him awake and either blown up with sisterly fury ( _ you’re too young for this! _ ) or taunted him mercilessly ( _ Shicchan got a girlfriend, Shicchan got a girlfriend!) _ .

“Thanks,” was all he said, after a moment.

“If you’re so grateful, you can throw in some extra garlic this time!”

“Your breath already reeks,” Shirou bluffed.

“No, it doesn’t!”

“Judging from how late you showed up, you’ve already eaten dinner, and knowing you, it was something full of garlic. What were you planning on making, anyway?” he added, peering into the pot simmering away on the stove.

It was Fujimura’s turn to blanch. “Uh...stew?”

“Fuji-nee, you can’t expect to make a good stew by just throwing a bunch of ingredients in a pot. Plus, you don’t make stew by boiling chuck roast. It’s even in the name of the cut - you want to slow-roast it in the pot, and - “

_ I had this exact same conversation with Sakura. _

He didn’t notice his own silence until Fujimura practically shouted his name.

“Shirou!  _ Shirou! _ ”

It took him a moment to figure out why there was suddenly blood on the cutting board. He’d cut his finger, and the pain came slowly as his body processed the initial shock of injury. The injury wasn’t severe - the wound was shallow - but he’d need a bandage nonetheless, and it was Fujimura who rushed to retrieve one from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He expected her to tease him as she peeled back the wax paper on the adhesive, but she remained silent, only speaking to insist that she apply the bandage for him.

When she’d finished, he remained where he was, staring at the bandage without seeing it at all. Something felt wrong, felt _numb_ , and it was connected to the fact that he - normally deft and dextrous with all manner of utensils - had somehow managed to slip up and cut himself. _But what?_ _What is it?_

Tohsaka entered the room then, possibly roused by Fujimura’s crashing about in her search for the bandage. Whatever the case, she was clearly too tired to worry about being seen in Shirou’s shirt; besides, Fujimura had already seen them asleep together and said nothing, so he supposed it didn’t matter anymore. Riding this mundane train of thought, it was a few seconds before he realized that Tohsaka was inspecting the bandage.

“Emiya-kun?” she mumbled, groggily.

“Tohsaka.” Behind him, Fujimura failed spectacularly at chopping the remainder of the carrot, processing it into thin curls that would only retain a vague semblance of solidity if they were added to the stew towards the end of the cooking process. As it stood, she scraped them into the pot of boiling water immediately, where they tumbled across the grey, already-overdone chuck roast to adorn it like some unappetizing wig.

“You’re hurt.”

Fujimura butchered the spring onions into something one might find at the scene of a particularly grisly murder and proceeded to ruin her concoction even further by dumping the onion slurry haphazardly into the pot. The resulting force sent one of the curly carrot slices airborne.

“Yeah.”

Fujimura ground enough peppercorn into the pot to poison a small whale.

“What happened?”

“My hand slipped, that’s all.”

Tohsaka pursed her lips, but just then, the “stew” belched green smoke, drawing both of their attention.

“...Is that...dinner?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Yep!” Fujimura chirped.

“No,” Shirou groaned. “I’ll make something else later.”

“Well, don’t worry about cooking enough for me. I should head home.”

“Already?” he said, surprised, and Tohsaka raised an eyebrow.

“Are you asking me to stay the night, Emiya-kun?” Then, without waiting for a response: “I don’t want to impose on you guys any more is all. Besides, I still have homework to do.”

Shirou bit his lip, biting back another protest that would just get him inevitably poked fun at. “Alright, if you’re sure. Do you want me to walk you home?”

Tohsaka rolled her eyes as she turned away, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure your hand doesn’t slip again.” She paused for just a second. “Also, I’m taking your shirt, you can have it back later.”

Shirou would’ve said something in return, but Tohsaka disappeared into the hallway before he had a chance to even open his mouth. A few minutes later, she returned, wearing her backpack, skirt and tights and carrying her shirt and blazer balled-up under one arm. The last he saw of her was a careless sort of wave as she stepped out of the front door.

“Fuji-nee, would you go lock the door?” Shirou prodded gently, more concerned about halting the walking kitchen nightmare’s destructive rampage than he was home security.

As soon as Fujimura was out of the kitchen, Shirou got to work. He started by emptying the pot completely, dumping the thoroughly-blackened onions ( _ how did she scorch something by boiling it? _ ) and dismembered carrots straight into the garbage. Then, he took out the entire pot roast and set it down onto the counter, deciding that it would be a waste to just throw away the entire thing.

“I can salvage this,” he murmured, cutting into the side just enough to confirm that the meat wasn’t nearly done yet; to his relief, it had only been boiling long enough to ruin a relatively thin layer around the outside of the cut (which raised the question:  _ how did she overcook the outside while leaving the inside raw? _ ). Behind him, he heard Fujimura re-enter the room and huff, but based on the fact that she didn’t interrupt him and he heard  _ Tangerine Nights' _ opening theme start to play, it was safe to assume she’d conceded defeat.

Shirou began by gently rubbing the meat with salt and pepper ( _ she added all that stuff to the broth but didn’t even season the meat? _ ) and trimmed away as much excess fat as he could - a little fat was good for flavor if you were frying the cut, but slow-roasted fat just came out tough and slimy. He then cleaned out the pot that Fujimura had used ( _ did she put  _ cinnamon  _ in the broth? _ ) and began anew, drizzling a generous amount of olive oil in the bottom of the pan.

As he chopped an onion, he allowed himself to become fully enveloped in the process. Cooking was therapeutic for him, in a way; every time he found himself in front of a fresh set of ingredients, he could dedicate himself completely to cooking the dish as best as possible. He always felt like he could be  _ useful _ and  _ helpful _ by giving someone a really good meal.

By the time he was done chopping the onion, the oil in the bottom of the pan had heated enough that the finely-diced pieces started to sizzle as soon as they were dropped in. 

_ While the water is pulled out of the onions, chop the carrots, _ he told himself, trying to keep his focus on the food. Luckily, Fujimura hadn’t managed to fully deplete his carrot supply, and while there weren't as many as he’d like, there were enough to get by; carefully, one by one, he chopped each carrot into even slices to ensure they’d all cook at the same rate. T _ he way Fuji-nee was cutting them, they’d either be mush or raw with no in-between.  _ With the carrots ready, he removed the lightly-browned onions from the pot and sautéed the carrots, using the water from the onions to ensure they didn’t turn rubbery.

When the carrots had softened somewhat, he removed them and put the chuck roast back in the pot, turning it occasionally to sear the outside. With that taken care of, he added in the beef broth, vegetables, a little bit of fresh rosemary and thyme from the fridge, and then finally, a little bit of peppercorn. Satisfied, he turned the oven up to 175, put the roast in, and set his timer for two and a half hours. Most of the time, a pot roast would cook at a lower temperature like 135 for four to five hours, but Fujimura was obviously hungry and had no concept of how long it took for things to cook. The resulting roast would be similar if cooked at a higher temperature for a shorter amount of time, albeit with a tougher turnout.

“Alright,” he said, stepping out of the kitchen as he undid the tie on his apron and hung it on its hook. “It won’t be done for a little while, but it should be  _ edible _ , at least.”

“To be fair, you’ve got steep standards,” his surrogate sister mumbled, turning away from the television.

Shirou rolled his eyes and walked over, taking his normal spot opposite Fujimura. With a huff, he sat, holding back a retort about how even a fly had high enough standards to not eat her cooking. Instead, he just stared at the television, mind blank. He’d woken up less than a half hour ago, but he just wanted to go lay down and fall back asleep - a feeling exacerbated by the awkward tension in the air and not at all helped by the fact that Fujimura kept shooting him what she must have thought were subtle glances. As time went on, the soft voices from the television and the ticking of the wall clock grew deafening.

“Hey,” Fujimura finally said, voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Do you want to talk?” 

“I’ve done a lot of talking today.” He pursed his lips. “It’s been...a long day.” 

He didn’t receive a verbal response, but rather a soft, yet firm grip on his forearm. He almost flinched at the touch.

“It’s - “ Fujimura’s voice came as a choked-out sob, and it only took a quick glance up to see that the woman was desperately holding back tears. “It’s okay to cry, you know.” 

Shirou felt his chest tighten, but he’d already cried himself dry on Tohsaka’s shoulder a few hours prior. Even if he’d wanted to let loose again, he wasn’t sure if he’d be physically capable of doing so; instead, he put his other hand on top of Fujimura’s, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

Fujimura buried her face in the crook of her elbow and wept.

As he watched her cry, the tightness in his chest gave way to pain, and it was all he could do to keep his gaze trained on his guardian. He had a sneaking feeling that if he were to look away, his mind would conjure up an image of someone who was supposed to be right there with them - who’d  _ been _ there not two weeks prior - and Shirou wasn’t sure he could handle that.

Eventually, Fujimura let out a choking sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, lifting her head. “I thought I was supposed to be the big sister here, yet here I am, crying while you comfort me.” 

Shirou didn’t try to smile. He knew full well it would be forced. “Dummy,” he said, squeezing her hand again. She flashed a smile in return and wiped away her tears with the back of her sleeve, leaving a pink and puffy face.

For a long while, they sat there on the floor together; the sounds of the clock and television, so painfully loud a minute ago, were now distant and muted, and at length, Fujimura spoke again, her voice cutting clearly across them. “They think it was heart failure,” she said, and Shirou frowned. “They haven’t done an autopsy yet, but they say it’s like her entire body shut down all at once.”

Shirou clenched the fist that wasn’t holding Fujimura’s forearm with rage.  _ Like she was spontaneously drained of all of her mana. _

“How did the school find out?” he found himself asking.

“Her grandfather called the school. She doesn’t have much family left, and with Shinji in the hospital, he’s the only one at home…” 

Fujimura kept talking, but Shirou was no longer listening. As soon as she’d mentioned Shinji and Zouken - only one of whom by name - he heard nothing but the roaring of blood in his ears and saw nothing but red. Zouken had ruined Sakura’s life and eventually ended it, all while Shinji turned what life she  _ did _ have into a living nightmare. As far as he was concerned, both were leeches that deserved to be gutted.

A yelp of pain graced the edge of Shirou’s consciousness. “Ouch - Shirou, that hurts.” 

Shirou’s mental reality marble shattered in an instant, and he released her arm with a start. In his silent fury, he’d accidentally clenched his fists a  _ little _ too hard, completely forgetting that Fujimura was even there - let alone the fact that he was holding onto her.

“Sorry,” he said, bringing his hands down to his sides and forcing them away from his body as if they were autonomous weapons that could jump out and attack of their own accord. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, stepping away from the table.

“Shirou -” she sounded concerned, but the sight of her massaging the reddened part of her arm didn’t help to ease his mind. 

“I’m going to put away the futon from earlier,” he said, quickly turning away from the table. “Let me know when the timer is done so I can take the roast out of the oven.”

“Shirou, wait!” 

He ignored the objection and withdrew from the living room, shutting the door behind him firmly enough to get his intent across:  _ don’t follow me. _

_ Some hero I am. _


End file.
